The Blind Banker
by iampotterlocked
Summary: After "a Study in Pink" and "Hida's Story." Hida Watson is Sherlock Holmes' assistant, and he was hired to find the hole in security at a bank, but then it spirals out of control.
1. Chapter 1

Reviews are more than welcome, they are needed. Thank you for reading Hida's second case with Sherlock Holmes!

All I wanted was cake and milk. But no! No that would be too easy, wouldn't it? I fumed at the self-service check out. The damn machine couldn't scan the cake to save its pathetic existence, couldn't it? On top of that, my card didn't work! And it was new!

"Card not authorized," the diabolical voice repeated over and over.

"Fine!" I screamed. "Take my cake! Go to hell!" I stormed out of the store, attracting many glances.

My anger propelled me to 221b. I stormed up the stairs. I entered the living room, fuming. I really wanted to smash something. Or better yet, EAT THE CAKE I WAS DENIED!

"You took your time." Sherlock said vacantly as he looked up from his book.

"Didn't even get the damn cake!" I said.

"What? Why?" he asked.

"Because I flipped out at a self-service checkout. It didn't scan my damn card and I needed my cake. Can I borrow cash?" I asked. I seriously needed that cake.

"Take my card." Sherlock nodded to the kitchen table.

I walked to the table. "Didn't you have that case about the diamond?" I asked. I flipped through his wallet and found the card. To the cake I go!

"Not interested," he said, flipping his book shut.

I got my cake and milk. After an hour of eating it in the park, I was a changed woman. Chocolate does that to me. It makes me happier. Damn now I was craving fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Or practically southern food of any sort. What was wrong with me?

I walked up the stairs and saw Sherlock hunched over my computer. Wait. MY computer?

"What the hell do you think you are doing with my computer?" I demanded. The chocolate was out of my system quickly, to say the least.

"Mine was in the bedroom." He said as he read something. I thanked the heavens that all of my correspondences were in Japanese, with a few Chinese and Korean letters. My mother demanded that I know Asian languages.

"Oh yes, the one and only consulting detective Holmes!" I said, raising my eyes and hands to the ceiling. "Can't walk two yards to get his sacred laptop! So he uses his flat mate's! Thank you for this honor, Mr. Holmes!" I staggered around a small area of floor, looking like a crazy woman. I then rushed him and slammed my laptop shut and tucked it under my arm. I went to the bedroom and shoved it in my pillowcase. Bastard better not come in my room. I slammed my door shut and threw myself in a chair in the living room.

"I need to get a job," I said.

"Dull," Sherlock responded. Then his eyes snapped open. "I need to go to the bank." He said. He grabbed his things and beckoned me. "Come along, Hida." He said. I rolled my eyes and got up.

The bank was a large building with mostly glass walls. Inside it was bright. Sherlock went up the escalator and I was right behind him. There were clocks everywhere with different time zones. I looked at Seattle longingly. I hadn't been in so long. Sherlock went to a table and said "Sherlock Holmes."

A few minutes later we were in an office with a beautiful view of London. A man walked in with a smile, saying "Sherlock Holmes! Eight years!"

"Sebastian," Sherlock said, and they shook hands. Sebastian looked at me questioningly. "This is my friend, Hida Watson," Sherlock explained.

"Friend?" Sebastian asked, looking surprised. I remembered my warning.

"Assistant," I said, smiling. I shook his hand.

"Need anything, coffee, water?" he asked. I shook my head and he waved his secretary off.

"You've been abroad, I see," Sherlock said. His eyes were flicking back and forth. "Twice around the world in a month?"

Sebastian laughed. "We went to University together. This guy had a trick. He can figure out your entire life in a minute. And come down to breakfast and he could tell you were shagging the previous night. Did he figure you out too?" he asked me.

"Almost everything," I said with a false smile and a nod. Sherlock looked insulted.

"It's not a trick. I just observed." Sherlock said quietly.

"Well then? How did you know?" Sebastian asked. "Some ketchup only found in Manhattan? Mud on my shoes?"

Sherlock was silent for a moment, then said "I chatted with you secretary outside."

I kept my face passive. I knew he didn't say anything to that secretary.

Sebastian gave a full laugh. "Well anyway, I'm glad you made it over, there's been a break in."

He led the way to a room on the same level that was full of computers and people bustling around. "William was the former chair, he died of a heart attack a month ago and his office was left as a memorial. There was a break in last night."

"Did they steal anything?" I asked.

"Nothing," Sebastian said.

He led us to the office. There was a picture of a man with yellow spray paint over his eyes and a symbol painted next to it. Sebastian showed us the security camera footage. One minute the picture was clean, the next it was painted over.

Sherlock asked how to get into the office. Sebastian said that every door, window, and cabinet gets locked at night. "Find the hole in our security, and we'll pay you. Five figures." He stuck his hand in his coat and pulled out a check.

"I need no incentive," Sherlock said loftily. He walked away swiftly. Sebastian turned to me, puzzled.

"He's like that, I suppose," I said, shrugging.

"Have you known him long?" he asked.

"No, only about a month." I responded.

I went back to the trade floor, led by Sebastian. Sherlock was bobbing between desks, weaving between people. They were either looking at him strangely, or too preoccupied with their work. After a minute, Sherlock came out.

"I am finished here." He said.

On our way out I asked him a question.

"How did you know about his travels? You didn't ask his secretary." I said. I caught a glimpse of his lip twitching up.

"His watch. Time was right, date wrong. Crossed the date line twice, didn't set it up. The model of the watch is one month old. Now the graffiti was a message. We find the recipient that will lead us to the person who sent it."

"Who was it for?" I asked.

"The pillars blocked the view that narrows the field considerably. And the time was eleven thirty. The person who came in at midnight to trade with Hong Kong would get it right after." He held up a name tag that said "van Coon" and hailed a taxi.

We soon reached an upscale apartment building. There was a button for van Coon and Sherlock pressed it. There was no answer.

"Did he move out?" I asked.

"No, just moved in. new label." Sherlock pressed the button again, savagely.

"Hello," a female voice said.

"Hi," Sherlock said. It was a bit unnerving, hearing him be friendly. "I live right below you, I don't think we met," he said.

"No, I just moved in," the woman said.

"Yeah, I'm really sorry, but I just left me keys in my flat," Sherlock said.

"You need me to buzz you up?" the woman asked.

"Yeah, and can I use your balcony?" Sherlock asked.

"What?" the woman seemed shocked. I had no idea what he was doing. But he was buzzed up, and I was left outside.

After five minutes I buzzed van Coon's room. "Sherlock, are you there?" I asked. There was no answer. I gave him another five minutes. I was let in and Sherlock led me to the body of the banker. The police were there and were soon taking pictures and stuff.

"Do you think he lost money? Suicide is common among bankers that do," I asked Sherlock.

"It wasn't suicide," he said, snapping on gloves. "Away for three days," he said, looking through the suitcase. "The symbols at the bank, what did they mean?" Sherlock wondered.

"Code, probably. An eight and two ones, could be anything. Or an infinity upright and two ones." I said. When I was bored in school, I always looked at the clock and came up with arithmetic equations of the time. Sherlock looked at me. "Well it was numbers, I'm sure," I said.

Sherlock was looking at the body, prodding it and flipping through pockets. "Yes!" he said quietly, pulling something out of van coon's mouth. "He was being threatened." He put the object into a bag.


	2. Chapter 2

**Gah! I've started supernatural and it has claimed me! Thank you for reading and sorry for the delay!**

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"Ah, sergeant!" Sherlock said happily as a sour faced man came into the room.

"No tampering with evidence." The man said.

"I phoned Lestrade, is he on his way?" Sherlock asked. I could see that Sherlock got along with Lestrade better than anyone else in the police force.

"He's busy, I'm in charge," the man said. I could tell there was even an undercurrent of glee, that he could push Sherlock out of the room if he had to. "And its detective inspector Dimmok to you," he said as he walked out of the room. I made a face at him. I could tell he was uptight about everything. Sherlock and I followed him to the living room of the apartment. "We are looking at a suicide," Dimmok said.

"Well it does seem possible, doesn't it?" I asked.

"It is possible if you only look at some of the facts. You idiots are choosing to ignore anything that goes against your story," Sherlock said angrily.

"Alright," I said. They looked at me. "Hit me up."

Sherlock went on a rant about how everything was on the left, but the bullet went through on the right. After a minute, he asked, "shall I go on? Of course I shall," and continued his spiel.

Dimmok was angry. "But he had a gun!"

"Of course he did, he was being threatened." Sherlock said while putting his scarf and coat on.

"And the bullet?" Dimmok said.

"Went through the open window." Sherlock said.

"Oh come on," Dimmok said. "And the chances of that are?"

"The bullet in his head is not from his gun I guarantee it." Sherlock said. He then spun out of the room. I nodded to Dimmok and followed. Sherlock went to a fancy restaurant and busted through. I weaved between people, but kept my distance.

"The graffiti was a threat," Sherlock announced. Sebastian was sitting there; laughing with some men, but Sherlock's sentence hung in the air and quieted them all.

"I'm in the middle of a meeting; couldn't you have gone through my secretary?" Sebastian asked, looking at the table.

"Sorry, it can't wait. One of your traders is dead." Sherlock announced.

"What?" Sebastian looked shocked.

"Van coon," I said. "The police are at his apartment."

"Hey sweetheart, can I buy you a drink?" one of the younger looking traders looked me over like I was a piece of meat. Oh, it was on. No Brit that values their life would mess with an American like that.

"Hey sweetheart," I said, "how about I buy you a drink?" I snagged a glass of water from a waiter's tray and flipped it over on his head. His mouth opened and closed. "And a quick piece of advice, don't hit on army captains." I glared at him.

"Well sorry to interfere with your digestion, how about 9 o'clock at Scotland yard suit you?" Sherlock slammed a card on the table. Sebastian came with us. The man I dumped water on flipped me off with his hand. I flipped him off back with both of mine and a smile.

"Met him at Oxford," Sebastian told us while he was washing his hands in his apartment.

"And you gave him the Hong Kong accounts?" I asked.

"Lost five million one week, made it back a week later," Sebastian said defensively.

"That's sketchy," I said, nodding. "But who would kill him?"

"We all make enemies," Sebastian said, straightening his die in the mirror.

"But you don't all die, do you?" I asked. "Wait, you do? Well, now I know how the world economy runs. Zombies!" I looked at both of them with happiness on my face. They did not seem amused or amazed by my epiphany. Sebastian's pager beeped and he excused himself.

"They say it's a suicide," Sebastian said.

"Well they've got it wrong," Sherlock said passionately.

"Well my boss doesn't see it that way." Sebastian said. Sherlock tried to interrupt, but he kept going. "I hired you to do a job. Don't get sidetracked." He walked out.

"That is a zombie if I ever saw one," I said.

The next day Sherlock didn't need my help on anything, so I went to a new clinic that was opening up down Baker Street. It was a women and children's clinic, and I seemed to be qualified enough. The woman at the counter said I seemed to even be over qualified. But I did get the job. Just as a general physician, but the work was only part time and the pay seemed to be decent. I met all the other doctors, most part timers. Most of them were women, but there were two men on staff for male children and babies.

I went up the stairs a bit happier than when I left. I had two jobs, both doing what I loved.

"I asked you for a pen," Sherlock said when I got it.

"When?" I asked. I just got in.

"Hour ago."

"I was out." I said. But I passed him his damn pen.

"I got a job at the new clinic." I said.

"How is it?" Sherlock asked. It was robotic; I could tell he wasn't interested.

"great." I said shortly. I looked over his shoulder at his laptop and saw an article. I skimmed it. "So it happened again?" I asked.

"Journalist shot dead in his flat. Windows bolted, doors locked." Sherlock was half gone, thinking about something else.

The next day we went to Scotland Yard. I felt so out of place there. But Sherlock went up to Dimmok and showed him the article.

"Freelance journalist murdered in is flat."

"It is similar," I said. "Both were shot, by someone who could walk through walls."

Dimmok didn't look too happy.

"You really thought van coon was just another suicide, didn't you?" Sherlock said disgustedly. "You did see the report, didn't you? The shot wasn't fired by his own gun."

"No," Dimmok said quietly. I wondered what it was like, to always defend your pride as much as possible. Men had it so hard.

"So I advise you to take my word as gospel. I've just handed you a murder inquiry. Five minutes." Sherlock stared him down.

And so we were on our way to the apartment of Brian Lucas. Dimmok insisted on coming with us. Sherlock rushed in the room and started scanning everything. I could almost see his brain working at a mile a minute. He went over to the window and pushed open the curtain.

"Four floors up, they think they're safe. Bolt the doors and windows, nobody could get in." Sherlock said.

"Wait, we're four floors up?" I asked.

"Yeah, what?" Dimmok said impatiently.

"Nothing," I said. I was always warned against fours. It was bad luck. It might have just been a stupid superstition, but I wasn't so sure. When I was four I broke both of my arms in a car accident. So maybe it was more than just a superstition.

"There's another way in." Sherlock said. He moved out of the room into the hall. "We're dealing with a killer that can climb." He said. He opened a skylight on the hall. "Climbed up the walls, and that's how he got in. dropped in through here."

"You're not serious," Dimmok said, unbelieving.

"Yeah, he is. Doesn't have a humorous bone in his body. Well, he has one, but…" I saw Dimmok's face. "Never mind," I said. Medical jokes are so underappreciated. Humerus, humorous.

"He scaled six floors to kill van coon. And have you seen the height of the bank?" Sherlock asked. "We have to find the connection." He picked up a book and flipped it open. He flipped it shut and walked out. I followed him to the street and he hailed a cab. "West Kensington Library," he said.

We were there after a twenty minute drive. The library was a good library. By that, it was huge. More than three floors, it was perfect. Big windows let in a lot of natural light. Sherlock led the way to a shelf.

"The date stamped was the day that he died." Sherlock said quietly. I was very happy to see that he kept his voice down in the library. He showed proper respect. Sherlock then started looking at books near the one found in the apartment. I really didn't know what to do, so I looked at a shelf to my right. Then I saw it. A bright flash of yellow. I pulled a book out. I thought I knew what it was. "Sherlock!" I whisper yelled. I was pulling more and more books out. He pulled a handful out and we saw it. The bright yellow paint in the symbols at the bank.

A few hours later Sherlock had pictures around the mirror over the fireplace. "Killer leaves a note for van coon; van coon goes home and dies later." He said, working it out.


	3. Chapter 3

**If you have made it this far, I thank you from the bottom of my soul. Oh wait. I don't have one. Ginger... Well thank you anyway, and reviews are most welcome!**

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"And killer finds Brian Lucas at the library, leaves the note, and he is dead a few hours later." I said. "What does it mean?" I asked.

"We have to find out." Sherlock said, studying the picture of the picture at the bank.

The next day Sherlock took a bus to a large fountain in central London. He then took it upon himself to lecture me on the importance of codes, ciphers and the like. "All of them are electronic and computer generated." He said as he bounded up the steps. "This one is different. It's old. Computers won't do a thing." He said.

"Alright professor, but where to?" I asked.

"I need some help." He said.

"Holy hell. Did I hear that right?" I asked.

"On painting. I need an expert." He said. I was expecting an elderly person. Boy was I wrong. A jittery teenage boy was vandalizing the walls of a building.

"My new creation," he said as Sherlock approached. "Urban bloodlust frenzy."

He was crazy. There was the grin of the maniac on his face. "Two minutes before the coppers come." He said as he painted.

Sherlock handed him a phone and the boy flipped the can of spray paint to me, probably expecting me to catch it before it fell. I looked at it as it hit the ground, and then looked at him over my glasses. The boy looked furious but Sherlock refocused his attention to the phone.

"Know the author?" Sherlock asked.

"Zinc paint," the boy said. "Dunno what it means," he shrugged.

"Two men have died, Bryce, and this is the key." Sherlock said angrily.

"Not much then, is it?" Bryce asked.

"Are you or are you not going to help?" Sherlock asked.

"I'll ask around." Bryce said nervously. Sherlock's glare could do that to people.

"You must know something," Sherlock implored.

"Oi!" a voice yelled out. Sherlock and Bryce booked it, leaving me standing next to a painting on a building with a bag of spray paint by my feet.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, this gallery is a public place!" the policeman said as his partner grabbed my arm. I took my arm out of his grasp and turned to him quickly.

"What do I think I'm doin'?" I asked in a thick Texas accent, opening my eyes wide. I registered the surprise on their faces with glee. "I didn't realize that lookin' at a paintin' on a buildin' could get me arrested. Oh forgive me, dear sir," I motioned sarcastically. "But I was under the impression that in the developed world, walkin' and lookin' wasn't a crime," I glared. The police looked scared. It did the trick. I was back at 221b in thirty minutes.

"I should place it, I should be able to, but I can't," Sherlock said. He turned around and saw me taking my jacket off. "No! I need you to go to the police station and get the journalist's things. We need that diary." He shoved me out of the door. "I'll see van coon's PA. We have to retrace their steps. Somehow it'll coincide." He walked off.

I hailed a cab for Scotland Yard. I hunted down Dimmok and asked for the journalists' diary. He seemed happier that it was just me and Sherlock was gone.

"Your friend," Dimmok started.

"Boss," I corrected. "And whatever you say, there's a good chance Ill agree with you 100%."

"Arrogant bastard." Dimmok finished.

"I was right. I do agree with you." I smiled. Dimmok handed me a small book.

"This is what you wanted, right? His diary?"

"Perfect. Thanks." I said. I flipped it open and saw a plane ticket to Dalian. Interesting.

I was reading through it when I saw the address for a store called the lucky cat. It wasn't too far from Scotland Yard so I walked. I realized it was in the Asian district of London. Well, the guy had taste, didn't he? He went there often, I could see, but there was really nothing else. Then I literally crashed into Sherlock. He started talking on and on about how he pieced together van coon's travels, and such, that he wouldn't let me get a word in. I grabbed his shoulders and turned him to the store. It was across the street.

There was Chinese writing on the store, and Sherlock and I walked in. a small elderly woman looked at us suspiciously.

"You want lucky cat?" she asked in a heavy accent.

"No thank you," I said in Cantonese. She looked at me blankly. I repeated myself in mandarin. Her eyes lit up.

"You speak it!" she said happily.

"My mother made me study hard in school." I said. I turned attention to some teacups. They were really pretty. I turned it over, curious. Then I saw the markings. They were the like the bank and library. I pointed them out to Sherlock and he nodded. We exited the store much to the dismay of the lady behind the counter.

"It's ancient numbers!" Sherlock said happily as he walked down the street. "Only street traders use it anymore, quite unknown."

"Fifteen!" I said. 'The horizontal line is one and the eight is fourteen! I'm hungry." I said. I dragged Sherlock to a Chinese restaurant and made him sit down. The waitress liked me because I could speak Cantonese.

"What did they see in china to make them come here?" I wondered.

"It's not what they saw; it's what they brought back." Sherlock said, scribbling something down on a napkin.

"What?" I asked.

"Remember what Sebastian said? Van coon always stayed up in the market." Sherlock said quietly.

"Ah. Smugglers. Nice," I said.

"Van coon made frequent trips to Asia, Lucas was writing about china, it was perfect, they could smuggle stuff back, and the lucky cat was the drop off location." Sherlock said.

"But why were they threatened and killed?" I asked. "If they did their job, there would be no problem." I said.

Sherlock paused, and then smiled. "What if they were light fingered?" he asked. "They took something from the hoard."

"And the killer can't figure out which and kills both to make sure," I said. I wondered what was so important to kill for.

He suddenly asked when it rained last. And then he was off. I threw my hands up and followed him out. He went to an apartment building across the street and rang the bell. And then he rang it again. And again. Nobody answered.

"Nobody here since Monday," he said. He rang the bell again.

"Soo Lin Yao," I said quietly, reading the name on the door. Sherlock walked around to the back of the building.

"That flat has been empty for three days," he said while turning into an alleyway.

"Vacation?" I asked.

"Do you leave your windows open on holiday?" he asked. I looked up and sure enough, the widows were open. There was a grinding sound as Sherlock jumped and brought the fire escape ladder down. He climbed the steps and left me in the alley. Great.

I ran back to the door and waited. He probably would let me in… right? I rang the bell.

"Are you gonna let me in?" I waited. Nothing. I rang the bell again. And waited. And waited. I heard him say something but I couldn't make out what he was saying. "Make up your damn mind!" I yelled. "Are you or are you not going to let me in?"

Still nothing. I waited a good minute before I rang the bell again. "Heloooo!" I said. "I think my good friend Sherlock Holmes would say that you should let me in now!" I said furiously.

Nothing happened. I rolled my eyes. Then the door opened.

"The milk's gone sour and washing is starting to smell someone left three days ago," he said in a croaky voice. "Soo Lin Yao. We have to find her." Sherlock said, coughing.

"How are we going to accomplish that, oh chain smoker?" I asked.

He picked up a piece of paper and showed it to me. It was a note from an Andy working in the Museum of Antiquities.

"Starting with this." He said and hurried off. I patted down my jacket pocket and found what I was looking for. I tapped his shoulder and gave him a cough drop.

"You're going raspy," I said. He nodded and took it.

We went to the museum and found Andy. He seemed very helpful and led us to a display of ancient Chinese artifacts.

"When did you see her last?" Sherlock asked him.

"Three days ago," Andy said in a soft voice that matched his mousy brown hair. He looked like a good person. "They said she resigned. Left her work unfinished and everything," he said. He seemed worried about her.


	4. Chapter 4

**sorry for the delay in updating. School is keeping me overly busy. Thank you for reading and reviews are appreciated!**

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"What was the last thing she did?" Sherlock asked Andy.

"I'll show you, it's easier," Andy said. He led us to the basement of the museum. He flicked the lights on and I saw we were in a huge room with moving shelves. "She does a tea ceremony for tourists. Her things would have gone here," Andy gestured to a shelf and turned the knob to move it out.

I looked down the shelf, but then Sherlock had gone off. I whipped my head around and saw him staring at a statue. It was painted with the yellow paint in the symbols.

By the time we left it was dark.

"Do you think she's alive?" I asked him.

"We have to find her," Sherlock said. I noticed he didn't give a definite answer.

"Sherlock!" a voice yelled. It was Bryce.

"You, sir, are very lucky I can pull a southern accent out of my ass," I said. He looked at me strange.

He led us to a bridge. Then after about fifteen more minutes he led us to an underground graffiti lair. I had to admit, it was pretty in a weird way. There were kids doing tricks on skateboards and painting.

"If a tree must be hidden, a forest is a good place," Sherlock commented.

"There," Bryce pointed. There was yellow paint, but it was already painted over so only small pieces showed.

"Same paint?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm sure," Bryce said.

"We need more evidence," Sherlock said. He told me to split up and go to the tracks behind the lair of graffiti.

It was freezing. I hunched over in my jacket and walked along the tracks, not expecting to actually see anything. Then the beam of my flashlight caught a blob of yellow paint on the tracks. I looked up and saw the wall on my right was filled with the symbols. I pulled my phone out and snapped a picture. Then I shoved my hands into my pockets again. Wait… I should probably call Sherlock… I thought. I braved the cold and dialed. Nothing happened. Figured. I guess I should probably hunt him down. I remembered that he went right while I went left. I jogged down the tracks and saw him looking at the ground.

"You idiot, I've been calling you!" I said. "Found it," I said.

We ran back to the wall. But there was nothing there.

"I don't get it. It was right here," I said. That was impossible. It was painted over that quickly?

"But they don't want me to see it," Sherlock said.

Suddenly large hands were clapped on my shoulders and spun me around. I jumped, and then realized it was Sherlock.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Close your eyes," he said.

"What, why?" I asked.

He started spinning me around in circles, blabbering about maximizing my visual memory to the fullest potential. What the hell?!

"I remember it!" I said.

"How much?" he asked. I realized he didn't know I took the picture. Oh, was this going to be fun.

"100%" I said smugly.

"Really? The average human remembers only 50%." Sherlock said.

"But I can remember all of it," I said.

"Really?" Sherlock seemed surprised.

"Well not now, but let me get into my pocket. My phone has camera, you know," I said. He dropped his hands and stepped away. I smiled. Showing him up sure felt good.

Back at 221b Sherlock taped pictures of the numbers onto the mantel and stared at them. He muttered about how they were all in pairs. It was really late and I had just gotten a text from harry asking if I could play piano for a beginners dance class the next morning.

"Why paint it next to the tracks. Everyone can see it." Sherlock said.

"I need sleep," I said yawning. My eyelids felt like weights. I closed them and tuned Sherlock out.

"We need Soo Lin Yao!" Sherlock said.

"Tomorrow." I put my foot down.

The next day Sherlock met with Andy. "Two men who went to china were killed. Messages were left in Hangzu numbering." He said.

"Soo Lin is next," I said. I felt bad for Andy. The kid looked like he was about to vomit. "The numbers on the statues matched the others perfectly."

"I've tried everything, but she… disappeared." Andy said helplessly. "I don't know where she went."

"What about the pots?" Sherlock asked, suddenly looking at some teapots.

"They were her work. If they dry out, the clay can crumble, so they need to make tea," Andy said. he seemed happy to know something, at least.

"Yesterday only one pot shined. Now both of them do." Sherlock said.

Long story short, we spent the afternoon and evening in the museum. After closing time, Sherlock popped open a grate and squeezed through. I was lost, but he seemed to have already memorized the layout of the entire museum. Oh well, I guess it was to be expected. He wove in between doors and aisles. Right before he opened the door he told me to wait outside.

"Fine." I said with an eye roll.

"She might not even be there," he cautioned me.

"Yeah, actually, she will be," I said. "just get a move on."

He stepped in. I peered through the window on the door, trying to get a good angle. Then I saw movement, and a small but dull flash of light in the dark room. It was her. It had to be. The flash of light moved, then disappeared, the reappeared. I saw Sherlock's shadow go to it. the flash of light disappeared, and Sherlock had it in his hand. They said something, but I couldn't make out the words. Sherlock walked back to the door and waved me in.

Soo Lin flicked on a light after offering us seats at the table. She spoke with an accent, a strange bled of English and Chinese. "He is coming for me," she said. she didn't look scared… just… resigned. "I need to finish my work. It's only a matter of time before he finds me."

"Who is he?" Sherlock asked.

"When I was a girl, I met him in china. I recognized his…signature." She said. the way she said "he" reminded me of myself. I knew what it was like, that bone deep fear, hoping that not saying the name will make it not true, make it go away and leave you alone. That hope against all hope, the stupidity of it, and you knew, you knew, but the frail hope went on.

"The cipher?" Sherlock prompted. I snapped back.

"Only he would do this," she said. "Gi Chu." Chinese for spider. She suddenly took off her shoe and showed Sherlock something. "you know this?" she asked.

"Mark of Aton." He said.

"Hm?" I asked.

"Ancient criminal gang in china," he explained.

"All of the foot soldiers bear the mark." She said sadly. "everyone who holds for them." It clicked.

"You mean you smuggled?" I asked.

"I was fifteen, and my parents were dead," she said, roughly tugging her shoes on. "I had no way to survive. Work was the only way to survive."

"Who are they?" he asked.

"They are called the black lotus." She said.

"When I was sixteen, I was taking thousands of pounds of drugs into Hong Kong. But I escaped, I came to England. I got a job here. Everything was good, new life, new flat." She sounded so wistful. I knew how she felt. No matter how hard she ran, how far away, it would always be there. I felt it in Iraq, I felt it now.

"But they looked for you," Sherlock said.

"I hoped after five years they forgot me." She said. she looked like she was going to cry. She was so young. "but they never really let you leave, a small community like ours. He came to my flat, asking me to help him. He wanted to find something that was stolen."

"Did you know what it was?" I asked. She shook her head.


End file.
